


One Bright Night

by hanbeecoo



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: I love these guys, M/M, and my baby oc evelyn i love her, lmao forgot about them, my first ever work i'm posting here thanks twitter fam, oh ludwig is here too! and gascogine, one of my favorite random bloodborne ships, questionable timeline of events but we don't talk about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:55:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanbeecoo/pseuds/hanbeecoo
Summary: Caught out on the night of a Hunt, a Hunter called Henryk takes up arms to defend a clinic, abandoned by the Healing Church.
Relationships: Henryk/Simon (Bloodborne)
Kudos: 7





	One Bright Night

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanons ahoy! I also have an OC, Evelyn, who makes a big appearance in this. She's very good friends with Henryk, and is romantically involved with Ludwig in this timeline of events. Also, yes, I ship Simon and Henryk. Not sure why but -it just works-. Hope you enjoy, much love to you for reading! (Also, I'm very sorry for the lack of formatting. I'll figure it out eventually. . . )

On the night of a Hunt, the old town of Yharnam turned itself inside out. The moon hung heavily over the town, shining its cold, dead light over all who dared step out into the streets. The bridge combining the town and the connecting Cathedral Ward would close, leaving all of its inhabitance on the unsafe side to fend for themselves. Even few Hunters walked into the town, for the townspeople would riot, taking up arms against the beasts, only to become beasts themselves. If one did not have enough incense to last the night, such a fate would befall them as well.  
The Healing Church had closed its doors an evening ahead of the Hunt, and the echelons of Cathedral Ward procured their incense and barricaded their doors, hiding away behind locked doors and closed curtains. The alleyways in the southern portion of the Ward were precarious enough on any other night, but the Hunt garnered a new fear amongst the residents.  
The clicking of heels across the polished stone courtyard leading up to the Healing Church as the coveted Holy Blades made their way to the gate to seal it, their Chief Hunter bearing the symbol that would ensure the safety of those on the other side of the iron bars. The Chief Hunter had a steeled resolve settled over him that each one of the Blades behind him felt. He could smell it in the air; the palpable, unwavering scent of blood and beasts; the low hanging moon that rose over a titian sky; the feeling deep within his own blood. It was an engrained ability each Hunter bore, but only the oldest Hunters could truly hone. No doubt the old workshop Hunters felt it even more than he could.  
His Blades shifted nervously. He could hear the scraping of boots and groaning of leather as they murmured amongst themselves. He peered over his shoulder, his mind preoccupied with the sword upon his back, growing heavier by the second. A soft whisper came to him; a gentle voice in his ear to instruct him of his next movement. That rune, that whisper etched into his mind. . .  
Turning his head back towards the iron gate, he prayed over those around him and himself. His mind went instead to his beloved; her long ashen hair; emerald eyes that disappeared with each smile and laugh; her quiet voice but overwhelming tone. Though he had that rune, that etching, that waned his fear enough to keep him level through a Hunt, he would think of her, and just a hair of fear would bleed through. The image of her body mangled at the hand of a beast set a fury alight in him that he could not contain. It clouded his judgement. Guidance brought him back. He had laid in bed with her two nights prior to the Hunt (the two days leading up to the Hunt, he had spent every moment preparing his Blades), watching her sleep and thinking on her own bravery during Hunts. She worked diligently within the clinic at the western point of Yharnam, taking in those who were injured to save them, risking infection herself. She was brave, but she would not raise a weapon against them. She only wanted to protect those who were able to be saved. Even she understood that the beasts could not be saved, their beasthood irreversible.  
The Holy Blade stopped his thoughts altogether, looking back at the men behind him, their minds steeled and vision clear.  
"Take heart," said Ludwig proudly, "they are just beasts, after all."  
Meanwhile at the very edge of Yharnam, with the Great Bridge yet to close, a cool wind caught the cloak of a Hunter, crouched upon the edge of a smaller bridge, just beyond the Tomb of Oedon. His icy blue eyes narrowed, surveying the sky as though it may open up and swallow Yharnam whole. The bustle of the city had since disappeared, as everyone had begun to close themselves in their houses, hiding away from the beasts that would soon prowl the streets.  
The Hunter took a slow, deep breath, inhaling the heavy air. He, too, could sense the coming shift. He strayed away from the Church's Hunters, as he did not always get along with them, favoring instead to partner with his mentor and friend, staying far, far away from the opinions and ways of the Church. Opinionated and marginally disliked, the Hunter stayed far, far away. He stepped down from the bridge's edge, brushing off his golden cloak as though it were dirty, and turned towards the stairs leading off towards the tomb. He hated the sense just before the Hunt. It was a heavy, unpleasant thing.  
"Mighty fine evening, is it not?" the Hunter, all dressed in gold, laughed loudly.  
"Sarcasm has done you no favors," replied a gruff, foreign voice, as a figure came from the stairs. The short engraved axe in his hand still stained with blood from the last Hunt, though he no doubt spent time trying to clean it.  
"Cheers," said Henryk, the golden garbed Hunter, "isn't that what Yharnamites say?"  
"I don't know, I'm not a Yharnamite."  
Henryk laughed quietly. He peered back at the city, pulling the face covering from above his nose down onto his neck. He preferred to over all but his eyes on the night of a Hunt -- it gave him a sense of anonymity, despite his very distinguishable attire. He had incredibly piercing eyes, however, and they cut deeper than even his weapon.  
"Are we going back towards Cathedral Ward? Is that what the Holy Blade would have us do?"  
"Henryk," said Gascoigne, "tone."  
"Yes, Father. Whatever you say, Papa."  
Gascoigne shook his head, trying not to laugh and encourage him. He walked to the edge of the bridge beside Henryk, adjusting the hat on his head. "It would seem we have a long night ahead of us."  
Henryk shuddered involuntarily. The thought of another long, seemingly endless Hunt certainly did not thrill him. The slaughtering of beasts was the only enjoyable part of the Hunt for him, and even that grew tiring before long. He hated being under the thumb of those in the Church, least of all Ludwig and his merry band of warriors. He did not hate the Holy Blade, but he disliked being commanded by him greatly. Henryk was always one to do things his own way, uninterrupted.  
"The black garbed Hunters of the Church said there was a form of root within Yharnam," said Gascogine, catching Henryk's attention again. "We are to let them do their job. Stay out of their way."  
"Regretfully," murmured Henryk. "Honestly. What do they think they can do better than a few saw-wielding Hunters? I could kill whatever's there in half the time."  
"But you won't," countered Gascoigne. "I'm going through Oedon Tomb, towards the Ward. I am to lock the gate behind me. . . I expect you'll follow?"  
Henryk wrinkled his nose, looking back out at Yharnam. The longing to remain in the city, within the action of the Hunt, was eating away at him. "Ludwig would lock his beloved on the other side of the Great Bridge on a night that the black garbed Hunters would seek a root of beasthood? Is he not fearful of what would befall her?"  
"That is, least of all, not our business," replied Gascoigne slowly, his own eyes falling on the city. He was incredibly soft for Evelyn, as many of the Hunters were. She was a kind soul, who certainly did not deserve to be messed up with the Hunters. Henryk viewed her as more of a misplaced sister at times, caring for her as dearly as he could.  
"Gascoigne," said Henryk, "come now. We used to break the rules, before you went fully Healing Church." He grinned a toothy grin at his mentor. "While I was young and reckless, throwing kitchen knives at wooden boards, and you were falling in love with the blonde girl in the market. We would sneak away from all of our responsibilities, and traipse through the sewers, or the balconies of occupied houses at dusk."  
"Yes." Gascoigne smiled at the memories. "I remember. I also remember getting you out of such trouble."  
"We could do that again," enthused Henryk, grasping Gascoigne's arm. "We could stay in Yharnam tonight. Be Hunters of our own making, not the Church's puppets."  
"I know puppets scare you quite terribly, Henryk," mused Gascoigne, "and even more so than Darkbeasts."  
Henryk scowled. "Where I'm from, the thought of a beast taking its power from lightning is quite terrifying."  
"Let's go, before you get any more bright ideas." Gascoigne clapped Henryk on the back, and he sighed, following the Hunter back towards the tomb.  
The quiet that settled over the tomb when they walked through the first set of gates. A thick fog settled over the gravestones and mausoleum. The statues set about the tomb all seemed to loom, their lanterns lit with ominous yellow light. The heavy scent of the dead lingered in the air; such a scent made Henryk sick to his stomach. He had once found a body in his homeland, scorched by the heat. He could scarcely forget the smell and the sight, but being a Hunter heightened his senses to such horrendous lengths, he struggled to ignore it.  
Walking up the next set of stairs, the pair of Hunters were greeted with a hooded Hunter of the Church, bearing a hammer on his back. His white gloves quickly told Henryk he was one of the black garbed Church Hunters. He regarded them politely, despite their normally dark demeanor.  
"Greetings. Is Yharnam vacated of Hunters?" asked the Hunter.  
Gascoigne threw Henryk a look to keep him from retorting with something sarcastic, and looked back at the Hunter with a stately stare. "As vacated as it can be. Is this order directly from Ludwig?"  
"Yes."  
"Right," replied Henryk, clearing his throat. "And you've assured that there is enough incense for the townspeople? Unless we want another Old Yharnam disaster on our hands?"  
The look that the Church Hunter gave Henryk would have made a small child cry. He nearly snarled at the Hunter, taking a step forward as if to assert dominance.  
"I would be mindful of what you recant with such malice, Hunter. Such words are. . .rather unappreciated." The Hunter then looked to Gascoigne, as if to threaten him as well. Gascoigne, who was much more intimidating than the Hunter before them, took a step forward himself.  
"It is the Church's duty to give the incense needed to keep the townspeople alive," countered Gascoigne.  
"It all went to those within the Ward," said the Church Hunter, his eyes darting between the Hunters. "That isn't your concern, however. We will ensure the safety of the townsfolk."  
I doubt that. Henryk thought. Curling his lip, he placed the covering back up over his face to hide his scowl. His fingers tapped nervously on his leg, his mind racing back to the clinic. He had seen Evelyn earlier, along with those sick and injured from around the town. She was caring for them, trying to keep them on this side of the void. If she did not have enough incense to survive the Hunt. . .  
She was not a fighter. But, she was his friend.  
"What would Ludwig say should he find out his beloved's clinic is out of incense?" pushed Henryk, and the Hunter glowered at him.  
"Henryk." Gascoigne's tone cut like a knife through him. If he could just get Henryk to think rationally, they might devise a plan--  
"You would be wise to stay out of our way."  
"No, YOU would be wise to not tell me what to do." Henryk's tone, though raspy and sometimes uncertain, was clear. He took another step forward, and the Church Hunter backed away. "You may close that gate, but I will be on the other side."  
"Henryk." Gascoigne looked back at him, his eyes wide with both shock, and a hint of disappointment. Henryk could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and for a fleeting moment, he thought that Gascoigne could hear it as well.  
Henryk squared his shoulders, taking a step backwards outside of the gate. The black garbed Church Hunter looked annoyed more than anything else, staring at Gascoigne.  
"I would suggest controlling your charge," said the Hunter.  
Gascoigne looked much more agitated with the Hunter than he did with Henryk, but he relented his own feelings and turned around to face Henryk, shaking his head.  
"They will do their duties, Henryk," Gascoigne assured him, but he was not swayed. "Henryk."  
"If they don't have enough incense, they'll die." Henryk's tone was threatening, but also breaking underneath the weight of his own emotion. That was his crutch. He was much too emotional, and he knew one day it would ruin him. He was always told it would.  
There was a tangible tension between the three Hunters, one that none of them were attempting to diminish. Henryk had laid his hand upon the hilt of his saw cleaver, his eyes flaring. His hand was shaking, which was an abnormality for a Hunter.  
The Hunter simply scoffed at him, shaking his head as if disciplining a naughty child. "Disregarding a direct order from the Chief of the Hunters, the Holy Blade himself, is a rather foolhardy, pathetic thing for such a lowly Hunter to do, don't you think? Now, Gascoigne, let us lock up and be done. I've had enough of his childish antics."  
Henryk stood at a crossroad. One path showed him walking back into the gates leading off towards Cathedral Ward, and taking up his arms to fight the beasts outside of houses that had plenty of incense to make it through the entire night without issue, and stay on the good side of all the Church Hunters, Ludwig the Holy Blade included. . .  
Or, he couldn't.  
"Gascoigne," said Henryk, and the Hunter looked at him with a furrowed brow. "I hope you can forgive me. I will not sit idly by."  
Gascoigne's eyes were filled with a mixture of pride and fear. "I would not expect you to."  
Henryk turned on his heel, and ran back for the town of Yharnam, Gascoigne calling after him ringing in his ears.  
Far away from the Tomb of Oedon, Iosefka's clinic was finally closed, the doors barricaded by the doctor's second in command, while the doctor herself was occupied in Cathedral Ward, entrusting the clinic to Evelyn until she returned. In the event that Iosefka was unable to return, Evelyn had protocols she was to follow. . .  
She stood at the door, her palms rested on the wooden surface, her heavy-lidded eyes focused just outside of the little window on the door. She could see the sky slowly darkening, and the air was slowly shifting. She could feel it, despite not being a Hunter. She had spent enough time near Ludwig to know when a Hunt was approaching.  
And she knew that she only had enough incense for an hour, if that. Iosefka had not returned before the bridge closed. . . and Evelyn had no way of sending word to the Hunters. There were children in the clinic. Sick men and women who deserved more than to be mangled by beasts. They had worked so diligently to get the patients recovering in a timely fashion. . . clearly they had taken too much time doing so. She was not a pessimistic creature by nature, but a fear had settled over her in the form of an expressionless visage. She could not let them see.  
A tear streaked down her cheek, her shaking hand falling from the door. It would be like always: Ludwig would come and save her in the end. He always did. Or, she would go down with a scalpel in hand, fighting through whatever would come through those doors. . .  
Or nothing would come through, and they would be fine.  
She leaned against the door, shutting her eyes and saying a silent prayer. She brushed off her skirt, walking back towards the inner rooms of the first floor. She could hear the chatter of a few of the patients that were strong enough to sit up and speak. She wondered if they knew it was the night of a Hunt. The floorboards groaned beneath her feet, the sound reverberating about the clinic. It was a piercing, uncomfortable sound to her.  
As her mind rushed to concoct some form of plan for the rest of the Hunt, as she never knew how long it would truly carry on for. She was not a Hunter, not even close. It was her closeness to other Hunters that gave her very brief insights into how the Hunt operated. She wondered, however, if even the Hunters knew just how the Hunt worked. She would believe more coming from Gehrman, as he had been a Hunter before the Healing Church had banded their own Hunters. She wished she knew more, or even wished she was brave and tactful enough to take up arms against the beasts. She was prayerful that her work in the clinic was enough, and that should she die that night, she would die in place of those sick. Her priority was to take the children deeper into the clinic; the rooms that did not have windows, and only had one point of entry. If she could hide them there through barricaded doors, her blood might be enough to satiate the beasts before they discovered the children. One of the children within the clinic, her parents had been so reluctant to leave. Evelyn had convinced them there was no safer place in Yharnam, perhaps except for the Healing Church itself. It was at that moment, the relief on the parents’ faces began to haunt her.  
She could hear Ludwig’s voice in her mind, telling her that she was safe so long as he was on the Hunt. She could also hear him telling her she should not panic, and instead think as a Hunter would when faced with an impossible choice. She had thought it easier for a Hunter, as they had the intuition to know exactly what to do when faced with death itself.  
The thick, coppery scent of blood hung in the air, as she caught herself at the bottom of the steps, laying a hand over her stomach. There was a swell within her, like the crescendo of a song, or a wave in the ocean. She could feel it. She had made her rounds, the incense had burnt off. Her eyes fell to the bottom of the staircase below her, the darkness slowly creeping up around them. Fear began to permeate within her, and she knew that would kill her faster than any beast. Her thoughts tripped over each other, all conjoined in one nervous fit.  
Evelyn was a rather religious person. She prayed, and prayed often. She knew that if her wits could not keep her alive, perhaps the gods would be merciful. She had once specifically prayed to the Great One Kos, as she felt drawn to the old stories about the Kin. She would sneak in to a lecture hosted by a member of the Choir, and listen to them speak on the Great Ones. She would rave endlessly to Ludwig (who often times would be responsible for her sneaking in) about how incredible she thought they were. So, she prayed. She did not know if they heard her, but she would try.  
Finally mustering the courage to walk back down to the ground floor, Evelyn held her breath. She began to relight the lanterns on the walls, lighting up the clinic in sections. She had already set the patients up with their lanterns and provisions for the evening, she simply needed to quietly find a way to get the clinic barricaded before the beasts could catch their scent. She wondered if the vials upon vials of blood lining the walls would bring them to her doorstep quicker. She also wondered if it could keep them at bay.  
She finished with the lanterns and walked back up the stairs into the hallway. She immediately felt a cold air hit her and she shivered. Her head turned towards the draft, she saw that one of the windows was open, leading out onto the rooftops. That recurring uneasy feeling settled over her once more, and she moved to shut it, securing the latch on the window tightly. Once secured, she exhaling softly, her reflecting looking at her through the glass. The sun had disappeared behind the buildings, the sky now a deep blue, streaked with orange from where the sun had just set. A dense white fog had settled over the streets, and the cold air caused condensation on the glass from the warmth inside the clinic.  
The very low creaking of the floorboards, and the conspicuously light tapping of what sounded like nails clacked precisely across the floor. The heavy smell of wet fur and fresh blood met Evelyn’s sharp inhale, as a chill raised most unpleasantly down her spine. Beside her reflection in the glass, a pair of cold, lifeless eyes met her own, just above the massive maw of a great, black furred beast.  
The size of a fully grown man and perched on all fours, the beast soundlessly bared its teeth, saliva and blood seeping between its gums onto the floor. Its claws were like daggers, scratching the floor effortlessly with each movement. Its muscular hind legs kept it almost reared back, its shoulders arched as though to were ready to pounce. Blood was caked onto the fur of its face and neck, as if decorating itself with its last kill. Evelyn could smell it — the blood on its breath and coat.  
Her legs trembled beneath her, and her heartbeat pounded away in her ears. She wished she had some semblance of an idea as to what to do, but instead, she fell back against the glass of the window, her hand fumbling with the latch. The beast took another step forward, opening its mouth, it let out a growl that made Evelyn’s blood run cold. The latch pulled apart on the window, and she pushed it open, as the creature lunged. From its hind legs, it pushed off the ground, and would have connected perfectly with Evelyn to send her through the window.  
With a most sickening splat!, Evelyn was splattered with something warm and wet, her arms covering her face now drenched in crimson. She had assumed it was her own blood, and the pain simply had not settled over her, but she was mistaken.  
The giant beast had a blade embedded in its head, its mouth still lulled open and eyes wide and cold, as though it was fighting to stay alive. The blade was removed from the creature’s skull, and it hit the ground with a thud.  
Evelyn sat, unmoving, before slowly lowering her trembling arms away from her face. Tears streaked down her cheeks, as she stared at the now dead beast, its body twitching as the weapon was removed from its head. She took a slow, deep breath, before looking up at her rescuer.  
The familiar golden garb gave him away, as did the steely blue eyes. He immediately pulled the face covering down and looked at her both in pity and relief. He stooped down and helped her up, her body trembling as she collided with him, her arms wrapped tightly around him. He hugged her back after a second of simply standing there, slightly more shocked she had hugged him than he was about the beast. He awkwardly patted her back, but when she did not pull away, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek against her head.  
“I heard there was a shortage of incense,” said the Hunter, almost sarcastically, pulling back from Evelyn. She looked at him with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, her skin pale and flushed.  
“Iosefka did not make it back with our replenishment,” replied Evelyn quietly, “I suppose. . . I don’t understand. Why would they close the bridge before they made sure we had incense? Why doom us!?”  
“It’s the Healing Church,” replied Henryk bitterly, “they care only for rooting out their own impurities, no matter who is in their way.”  
Evelyn normally would have challenged him, given her. . . closeness to Ludwig, but she did not. Truthfully, she was still rattled from her facing down the beast, she had little to say aside from a small whimper that escaped her when she looked back at down at its body.  
“I am most glad for you, Henryk.”  
He ruffled her hair like a most annoying older brother, and she frowned at him, a playful look into their friendship. He grinned at her, before turning back to the beast.  
“Gods. Don’t suppose you could cook him up?”  
“You’re disgusting.”  
Henryk laughed. He watched as Evelyn began to reopen the window, her hands still shaking. She was rather brave to stare down such a beast, but he could not understand for the life of him why she wouldn’t keep a weapon on her and fight back. Perhaps fighting was not for everyone. He transformed his saw cleaver back to its smaller counterpart, and sheathed it, grabbing the beast by its hind legs, and dragging it towards the window. He took it to the edge of the roof and dropped it into a courtyard across from them, hoping that any other beasts would know there was a Hunter nearby, and leave them be.  
“How did it get in?” asked Evelyn as Henryk rejoined her in the clinic.  
“Perhaps the same way I did: open windows.” He chuckled. “Although, I’m a bit smaller than a beast.”  
“Where’s Gascoigne?”  
Henryk pursed his lips, looking over his shoulder towards the door leading downstairs. “He did not come. He’s in Cathedral Ward, with the rest of the Hunters. We were given express orders to remain on the other side of the Great Bridge. I disregarded that, and it seems that choice has spared you a most grisly fate.”  
Evelyn shuddered visibly. “It would seem so. Why? Why would the Church just. . . leave us? Did they not learn from the decimation of Old Yharnam?”  
“That would require them to admit they’ve ever done a thing wrong,” replied Henryk glibly. He tried his hardest not to offend her, but it seemed as though she agreed with him.  
The air in the clinic grew colder as the duo locked the windows back up and drew the curtains. Henryk had begun devising a plan of how best to secure the clinic, while also setting a patrol for himself to keep the beasts away from all entry points. He had stocked himself with enough blood to last him the entirety of the Hunt (or at least he hoped he had), and had a pouch full of throwing knives. His cleaver could have used a good repairing, but he was not expecting to fight alone. Normally, on the night of a Hunt, he would fight side-by-side with Gascoigne, and the damage was equally done between the two weapons. Gascoigne was constantly reminding Henryk to repair his weapon at the workshop, and Henryk was forever disregarding him. He was sorely regretting his decision.  
Walking back into the hallway, Evelyn inquired, "What now?"  
The Hunter stopped, peering down at her. It was a valid enough question, if not a broad one. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, his mind racing for an adequate answer. "Now, you stay put inside. Are your patients safe?"  
"As they can be," replied Evelyn, her voice still as unsteady as her hands.  
Henryk often times wondered how Ludwig ended up with someone as easily shaken as Evelyn. Perhaps it made him feel more useful in his relationship, or perhaps love truly was blind. Or, perhaps he saw something within Evelyn that Henryk did not: something that could be honed and corrected, and made into some semblance of a Hunter. He shook his head.  
"I know you think of me as weak," said Evelyn, as though she had read his mind. "Some measly woman, incapable of protecting myself."  
"I don't think that," replied Henryk. "Do I think you should take up a weapon instead of staring down a scourge beast next time? Perhaps. But, that isn't up to me. It's only up to you. We don't all have the Holy Blade to fight our battles for us."  
Evelyn glowered at him. In the moonlight streaming through the window, her eyes looked even more intense than they normally did. "Ludwig does not fight my battles for me. And what would you know, hm? If you loved someone, would you not want to fight for them?"  
A sharp pang of loneliness tore through Henryk like a blade. He looked to the floor, shaking his head. "My point is. . . you should fight something before you let it devour you."  
"It wasn't ever my intention to fight," snapped Evelyn, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "The beast would kill me. It would be busy with my blood, my body, and not care to kill anyone else inside the clinic. My life is worth nothing compared to the lives of the children in that room!" she pointed off towards the steps. "If you're so strong, Hunter, I suggest looking a parent in the eye and telling them their child has the Scourge and must be slain. Do not tell me I don't fight my own battles."  
Her words cut him. His perspective changed, he simply nodded once to her, feeling foolish and insincere. He could remember how scared she was when he arrived, and how the last thing she needed was him patronizing her. They often times bickered like siblings, as Evelyn felt she could fight him, and not lose her friendship with him. Henryk felt guilty, as any older brother would, and patted Evelyn's shoulder.  
"I've misjudged you again."  
"Yes. You have." Evelyn cocked an eyebrow at him, and the Hunter chuckled.  
"Are you alright if I step outside and check the courtyard?" asked Henryk. "Your outside defenses are low, and the building is all but inconspicuous. The smell of blood will lure every beast roaming the streets right to your door. I intend to close the iron gate leading into the streets, then the one in our courtyard. It might keep some wandering creatures at bay."  
Evelyn nodded in agreement. "Whatever you think is best. Most of the patients should be asleep by now, so whatever you do, do it quietly. Are you certain there are no other beasts within the clinic?"  
Henryk shut his eyes briefly. The ground beneath him felt solid, unwavering. He could not sense that overwhelming and sickening sense of beasts, nor other Hunters drawn in by their lust for blood. He felt no movement. He sensed no movement. When he reopened his eyes, he nodded.  
"Gascoigne once showed me a trick," said Henryk, "that if a Hunter shuts his eyes and simply feels the ground beneath them, they could feel the beasts approaching. Saved my life a few times, actually. You get a grand sense of these things."  
Evelyn smiled at him. "I know you detest it, but Ludwig does the same thing. He can even sense when I sneak up on him, it's quite annoying. I can't surprise him with anything."  
Henryk shrugged. "Or, perhaps you're a beast. You certainly smell like one, what with all that blood you work with. It's nauseating."  
Evelyn frowned at him again, and he laughed. "Go close your gates, Hunter. And. . . Henryk?" her tone softened, as she caught his arm. "Thank you. I. . . don't know what would have happened had you not come, but I know it would not have been good. You saved my life, and I'm beyond grateful. Please, don't forget that."  
Henryk nodded to her in a very chivalrous, warm way. He watched as she walked back towards where her patients were, her hands still shaking and her face still paled from her near-death experience. He wondered if they were to make it through the night, how she would explain this to Ludwig. He could imagine his anger if he knew his beloved Church was responsible for the almost death of his lover. The irony made Henryk smirk.  
As he made his way back down into the foyer, he shut the doors behind him tight, and came back out into the mostly stone courtyard just before the streets of central Yharnam. When there was not a Hunt occurring, the streets would be bustling with peddlers and merchants, and even just some civilians with their opinions and their loud mouths. Henryk found Yharnamites to be rather entertaining, if not a bit frustrating as a lot. He came from a very vast, very open desert-like expanse, where the people seldom spoke to one another. Yharnamites were also incredibly untrusting, and still treated Henryk as though he were an unruly outsider, there to kill them all.  
He chuckled at his own thought.  
The streets were strangely devoid of beasts. Henryk looked both left and right, as he fully expected a beast to collide with him at any moment. All that met his eyes and ears were the burning of torches, and the very faint sound of laughter from those who had plenty of incense to survive the evening. The large iron gate that connected the street to the courtyard of the clinic was wide open, its lever pulled taught in its position. He grimaced, knowing it would most likely take another pair of hands to get it to close. Night had fallen much quicker than Henryk was used to. Darkness covered the streets, making it much easier for beasts to hide. It was only a few months from winter, so the air was just cold enough that Henryk could see his breath float up and away from his face. He recovered his face with his shroud, adjusting the hat on his head. He could already sense where some beasts had been, and even the trace of a Hunter. He wondered just how much time had passed since he had left the tomb and gone to the clinic, as it felt like it had only been minutes. Time on the night of a Hunt seemed to pass much differently than on just a regular night.  
He passed an abandoned carriage that had a broken wheel left on the street. He could smell blood, and it took him little time to see the splattering of blood across the wooden seat, dripping onto the cobblestone. It had been forced back into the iron railing, keeping it from plummeting into the lower reaches of the city. The body that belonged to all of that blood was nowhere to be found. He could sense that it was fresh, perhaps only a handful of minutes from when he had left the clinic. Many of the Yharnamites that took up their own arms against the beasts met that grisly fate.  
He reached a hand out and touched the blood, feeling it spread across his glove. He inhaled the mawkish ooze, realizing quickly that it was beast blood, and not human. He rubbed his fingers together, standing back up and looking out at the street. The quiet somehow unsettled him far more than the noise, as the faint laughter had died out, and there was only the crackling of a torch nearby. He could once again feel the shift in the air; the steps against the cobblestone. He pulled his saw cleaver into his hand, brandishing it with white knuckles.  
He raised his head again, looking instead towards the clinic, but he saw no movement. As gruesome as it was, he would have heard Evelyn scream should anything have broken its way back into the clinic. He began to think of a way to get the gate closed, pacing as he thought. Simply pulling on the lever would do nothing, he knew it would take at least two people. They were meant to be tough, difficult to pull, so that foolish townspeople didn't knock into them and close gates on anyone. Now, it was causing Henryk quite the headache. He was not a weak man by any means, but he knew he would be unable to pull it, despite how much he tried. And he wished not to waste his energy on such a task, when beasts prowled the streets.  
He gave up after the third pull and groaned, shaking his head. The feeling of something lurking nearby did not go away, but Henryk kept his hand just by his saw cleaver, in case of an ambush. He backed away from the gate and the lever, only to hear the sound of boots scraping the ground. He turned his head abruptly towards the sound, and saw a man stumbling from behind the carriage. He arched his shoulders, watching the man closely.  
He was tall, and had very grey skin and wild reddish hair. He held his throat, sputtering and and groaning, sounding much more like a wild animal than a man. It was when he turned his head towards Henryk, that the Hunter realized he was no man at all. He had bloodshot blackish eyes, the pupil collapsed into itself. The beast bared its teeth, showing off the blood slipping between its gums.  
Henryk transformed his saw cleaver, and the creature lumbered towards him. Pistol in hand, Henryk waited patiently to see what the creature's first move would be -- until his eyes fell to the large cleaver in its hand. Before he could register its movements, it flailed towards him, its cleaver meeting Henryk's, and knocking the Hunter down onto the ground. He rolled away from the next anticipated move -- the blade coming down to connect with his skull. It missed him by only an inch, and Henryk's eyes widened at the sight of the blade. Pulling his pistol from its confines, he shot upward, knocking the beast onto its knees, and giving Henryk a chance to roll backwards onto his feet.  
Pulling the cleaver from the ground, the beast regained its footing with ease, and charged him again. This time, Henryk met it halfway, transforming his weapon and knocking the cleaver from the creature's hands. With a grin beneath his mask, he tore through the beast's chest with his saw cleaver, and rendered it immobile. He kicked the creature over and dug the blade deeper, assuring it was dead. He exhaled, regaining his composure as he transformed his saw cleaver once more. He grinned proudly, staring down at the beast's lulling body. He prodded it with the toe of his boot. He hadn't seen a beast quite like that one in several Hunts, and he found it strange that he was seeing them now. Perhaps that was what the black Church Hunters sought out.  
He hardly had time to think.  
How something could have snuck up on him was a question Henryk would ask for a long time. A body collided with his, sending him sprawling across the cobblestone. Fur and skin pressed against his own, as teeth bared inches from his face. He could feel the hot breath of the beast against his cheek, its claws digging deeper into his ribs. He thought, for a fleeting second, how frustrating it would be to have to sew up the slices in his garb. . . should he survive.  
His head dragged against the ground, as he repositioned his saw cleaver in his hand and swung it upward, spraying the ground and himself with the beast's blood, and listening to its splitting roar as it pulled away from him. He rolled over onto his knees, blood slipping down his face beneath his mask, soaking into the fabric and into his mouth. The creature had knocked the hat from his head, and he winced as the cold air hit the now deep gash in the side of his head.  
The beast turned back around to face him, its claws covered in Henryk's blood. It only seemed to serve as a strengthener for the beast, as it inhaled the blood around it. Henryk swung his cleaver, and the nimble wolf beast leapt from the ground and to his left, dancing gracefully around the Hunter's half-blind swings. A fit of vertigo nearly knocked Henryk off his feet, as he tried to plant his feet in the ground and face the creature head-on.  
From the wall leading straight down into the depths of the city, another beast pulled itself up, somewhat smaller than the one in front of him, but still drunk with blood. Whoever it had just feasted upon must have given it enough strength to scale the wall, and the smell of Hunter's blood brought it right to Henryk. Normally, some beasts would cower at the Hunters, since they bore fire and weapons, but tonight, they seemed fearless. Henryk could hear his heart in his ears. He looked back at where the large iron gate was, still open and leading into the streets. He knew that if he were to be chased further into Central Yharnam, he ran the risk of dooming the inhabitance of Iosefka's clinic to whatever other creatures lurked nearby. At the very least, he was keeping whatever beasts were around at bay. He transformed his cleaver once more, so that the blade was extended away from him. Blood dripped from the blade's teeth, soaking into the ground beneath them. He had never truly gone into a Hunt alone, let alone faced down two beasts of that size by himself. A heavy fear settled over him that he tried to hide, as he knew that the beasts could sense it within him.  
The first lunged. It was met with a shot from Henryk's pistol, as he spun on his heels, down onto one knee and dug his blade into the forearm of the second beast. Knocked back by the bullet, the first beast gathered itself, snarling at him from afar, as the second lunged away from the saw cleaver, and swiped at the Hunter with enough precision to nearly knock him off his feet once again. He moved backwards towards the gate, firing another shot between the beasts to keep them apart. If he could just stagger one enough to get the upper hand, he could easily take the other one down. He just needed to get it down to one beast.  
Using its muscular hind legs, the first beast reared backwards, then lunged forward, missing Henryk by a few inches, but distracting him enough that the swipe from the second beast caught him and caused him to stumble into the carriage, blood soaking into his clothes and dripping onto the ground. He leapt in the air, bringing his cleaver down on the back of the second beast, and it howled up towards the sky, snarling and writhing away from him. Using his boot on the creature's back, he pulled his cleaver out and raised it for the killing blow. The creature met him halfway through the swing, colliding with him once more, and nearly sending him over the iron railing and down into the depths of the elevated city. He gasped, honestly startled by the creature's sheer force. The first beast lunged, as if taking up the mantra that if it was to fall to its death, Henryk was to come with it. Its hind legs still on the ground, the beast dug its claws into his shoulders and opened its mouth, rows and rows of crooked, dagger-like teeth hovered inches from his face, and sunk into his shoulder.  
Henryk yelled in pain, his saw cleaver tearing through the beast's stomach. It froze, teeth still embedded into his shoulder, twitching and croaking as Henryk spun the cleaver in his hand, and pulled the creature off of him, and over the railing, listening to its howl echo through the chasm below. He quickly moved himself away from the railing, limping just slightly.  
The remaining beast snarled at him, down on all fours, it began to swing wildly at him when he charged it. He tried desperately to get a shot in on it, but it knocked the pistol from his hand. He instead closed his fist and punched the creature, catching its shoulder with his blade. The bloodthirsty creature's movements were becoming increasingly less tactical, and as it swung wildly at him, desperate to spill his blood, he rolled away from it and retrieved his pistol, shooting it and staggering it in the middle of its swipe. It stumbled in front of him, its body shuddering as it tried to regain itself. He let out a frustrated battle cry, and embedded the cleaver into the creature's head, relishing as its body collapsed, its blood spilled across the street.  
Henryk groaned, the pain slowly settling over him like a dark cloud, as he leaned against the brick wall beside him. He noticed an indentation on the lamppost beside him, where one of his bullets had ricocheted. He reached for the bleeding gash in his shoulder, grimacing when his hand met the wound. He looked over at it, letting out a small, pained note when he saw just how deep the bite was. He knew he would need to take blood sooner than later, as he feared the Scourge as much as the other Hunters around him.  
A clawed hand came up from over the railing. Henryk startled, reaching for his cleaver again to send the beast tumbling back over the edge, as it crawled its way back up the wall, teeth bared and eyes black.  
Henryk surged forward and raised his cleaver, but before the weapon could make contact with the beast, something thin and silver soared through the air, over Henryk's shoulder and into the beast's head, killing it and sending its body tumbling right back down into the chasm beneath them, this time for good.  
Henryk exhaled, lowering his saw cleaver. He had not heard a gun shoot, nor had he heard the unsheathing of a weapon. He slowly looked over his shoulder, a fleeting moment of panic settling over him. He was faced with a hooded figure, holding a peculiar curved bow.  
He exhaled again, this time out of complete relief.  
"Simon," said Henryk, and the Hunter lowered his weapon.  
"What a mess you've made," said Simon patronizingly, pushing the hood off of his head and returning his bow to its blade form. He stepped underneath the pale street light, illuminating tired green eyes and pallid visage. He looked as though he, too, had quite the tiring night. "Running away from Church-given orders, only to be cornered by two ravenous scourge beasts." He grinned. "A sorry tale."  
Henryk cleared his throat, plucking his hat from the ground and securing it on his head. "A Hunter alone on the night of a Hunt -- I can think of worse fates. . . how did you know I am here against Church wishes? And don't say you 'guessed', because I know you're lying."  
Simon chuckled, shaking his head. He placed his blade at his side and approached the other Hunter, but stared out over the rest of the city, as if pondering what to say next. He was a tall, lanky fellow with just enough muscle to fight off a beast and pull the heavy string of a bow, but sometimes, he looked rather sickly. Henryk had heard rumors about where he had come from, and knew that he frequently had disagreements with the Church's hired assassins, as Simon had the tendency to pry into the Church's private business. It was why he and Henryk seemed to get along quite well. . . Henryk was always doing the same.  
"I was eavesdropping," replied Simon, honestly. "I hope you can forgive me." He turned himself to face Henryk, raising a hand to prod the injury on Henryk's shoulder. He grimaced, swatting Simon's hand away.  
"Ah, don't swat at me." Simon slapped Henryk's hand playfully.  
"Don't touch my wound," replied Henryk unhappily. "Why follow me? Aren't you in enough trouble with the Church?"  
Simon grinned sheepishly. "But of course. What's a little more trouble amongst friends? You've come all this way to protect the clinic, and it would seem you could use my aim."  
"I had that beast," countered Henryk with a smile. "You simply showed up late to the party. And believe you me, I'm happy for the company."  
Henryk's rather softening tone caught Simon off guard. The normally mysterious and frankly a bit sarcastic Hunter never showed such softness in anything, and Simon briefly relished in his tone, if not a bit unnerved by it at the same time. He turned away from Henryk, towards the massive iron gate Henryk had been unable to close earlier.  
"As surely as an Executioner's temper will flare, more beasts will come." Simon chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.  
"Want to help me close that, then?" asked Henryk, and Simon titled his head, then nodded once. "Normally, it would be closed. All the gates should be. It centralizes the beasts and makes it easier to kill them in a timely fashion."  
"The Church is not interested in the timely slaughter of beasts tonight," retorted Simon, walking side-by-side with Henryk towards the lever controlling the gate. "They seek the root of infection, or at least, what they think is the root."  
"It is no mystery to me that they have been killing people they suspect to be infected with the Scourge," said Henryk, his tone airing on the side of disgust. "That is why they have assassins. Truly, what kind of Church would need assassins!?"  
"Poor ones, I reckon," replied Simon.  
"Gascoigne has told me that there are churches where he is from," said Henryk as they reached the lever. "They have different titles, different meanings. But, they are peaceful, and do not senselessly kill."  
The gate would surely close on them if they were not quick enough to get through it once the lever was pulled. Henryk grabbed the lever from the back, while Simon pushed it from the front. Once they got it to move, it shifted onto the other side, and the two Hunters pulled themselves through the closing gate in plenty of time, as it groaned and creaked shut. Henryk wiped his hands off of invisible grime, and Simon looked almost nervously over their shoulders at the railing, as though waiting for more beasts to crawl from the depths.  
"Thank you," said Henryk earnestly, and the other Hunter grinned impishly.  
"For which part?" He began to count with his fingers. "The following you so that you are not alone on the night of a Hunt in a beast-infested central Yharnam? The perfectly timed arrow to save your pretty face from being clawed off by a beast? Or the timely shutting of the gate to ensure the safety of those locked away in Iosefka's clinic?" "And the compliment," replied Henryk, referencing Simon's choice of adjectives for his face. Simon pursed his lips.  
"Yes, well. You're welcome, I suppose." Simon scoffed, clearing his throat and looking down at the ground. For as much of a flirt as the Hunter was, he found himself strangely intimidated by Henryk.  
It wasn't as though the two were strangers.  
"I've another gate to close, then I'm headed back into the clinic," said Henryk, making his way towards the courtyard. "Won't you join me?"  
"Yes," replied Simon without a sarcastic jest or comment.  
The two Hunters walked back towards the courtyard just before the clinic, Henryk stopping to pull the lever and shut the gate behind them. He pulled the mask around his face a little tighter, trying to stem the bleeding coming from his nose. His head still hurt quite a bit from hitting the cobblestone, and he caught himself reaching for the gash in his head. He tried not to let Simon see just how injured he was, mostly because he was prideful, and because it was unbecoming of a Hunter to show pain. He would have Evelyn look at them by the end of the night, just in case he had somehow found himself infected.  
"A beast had already gotten into the clinic earlier," said Henryk to Simon, as the two entered the clinic and began barricading the door with a nearby gurney. "Had I not gotten here. . . I don't want to think of what that beast would have done to Evelyn."  
"Careful, Henryk." Simon grinned again. "Should the Holy Blade hear you speak of his beloved so dearly, he may smite you."  
Henryk rolled his eyes. "I think of Evelyn as a sister. I'm sure Ludwig would appreciate my protecting her. And regardless, I am not doing it for him. I am doing it for her."  
Simon looked moderately impressed. He removed his hands from the gurney against the door and turned to face Henryk. "Aah, the Hunter with the garb as gold as his heart."  
". . .You didn't just say that."  
Simon laughed, looking over his shoulder as he heard someone approaching.  
Evelyn had pulled her long hair up away from her face, and seemed to be a bit more lively than the last time Henryk had seen her, but still had that very vacant look behind her eyes. He knew that look. He bore it after his first Hunt. She looked almost through him at first, before steeling her gaze and smiling weakly. It faded quickly, however, when she saw the gashes in Henryk's shoulder.  
"You're hurt." She walked up to him and reached for the laceration, but he gently moved her hand away.  
"I'm fine. No other beasts got in, right?" asked Henryk, looking around the room.  
Evelyn shook her head, her eyes falling to Simon, who nodded to her politely. "Hello, Simon. I'm glad you're here. Two Hunters is better than one, after all. Henryk, have you taken blood?"  
"Don't go full doctor on me." Henryk chuckled. "I will. After I've secured the clinic. I need to make sure we're beast-free before tending to my own wounds."  
"I've already done a round through," replied Evelyn quickly. "There are no beasts here. Let me look at you."  
Henryk shook his head, patting her on the arm reassuringly. She sighed, looking up at him like a patronizing little sister. She turned towards Simon and nodded to him.  
"And you're no worse for wear, Simon?" she asked.  
"I'm quite well, thank you." He was looking around the clinic, the mahogany rooms smelled much too sterile for him. The smell of blood always made him incredibly nauseous, despite being a Hunter. Henryk sensed his hesitation and frowned.  
"Don't tell me you're afraid of doctors, Simon?" jested Henryk, as the Hunters began their walkabout of the clinic. The wooden floors creaked beneath their boots, but the sound was much more soothing to Henryk now.  
"Don't tell me you've suddenly discovered your sarcasm again, Henryk." Simon's smirk grew. "Here I thought that rather large beast tore it out of you."  
Everything Simon said, the cadence of his voice, sounded as though he were harboring many secrets. He had a way of speaking that Henryk rather enjoyed, that normally annoyed anyone else. He walked so closely to Henryk, but was so light footed, that if Henryk were not speaking to him, he might not have known he was there. He somehow did not smell of the Hunt and of blood, but instead smelled of incense. Henryk had already in the past been drawn to his fellow Hunter, but tonight. . .  
They came to the rounded hallway of windows. They checked each one meticulously; each lock secured and glass checked for cracks. They drew the thick, heavy curtains over the windows to hopefully make them look more like walls than windows to the beasts. Simon stepped outside one of the windows and checked the back courtyard of the clinic, but there was nothing there. He came back inside, and Henryk locked up behind him.  
They went deeper into the clinic. It seemed as though Evelyn had taken up reorganizing to occupy her hands while she was otherwise not preoccupied. Everything was labeled and placed in order along the shelves. It smelled heavily of saline, but Evelyn had begun to burn candles to stave off the smell as much as possible. Henryk admired her organization, since he found that his corner alley apartment was incredibly clean and organized. He was incredibly particular about things like that.  
His attention pulled back to Simon, as he had heard him speak, but did not know what he said.  
"What?"  
Simon sighed. "I said sit yourself down, Henryk. Let someone take a look at that wound."  
Henryk cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to get Evelyn?"  
Simon pulled the Hunter's hat from his head, and Henryk's eyes narrowed. "When you stop being so childish, you shall get your hat back."  
"Who's childish now?" inquired Henryk rhetorically, and Simon laughed happily.  
Henryk pulled his face covering down, snatching his hat back from Simon. "I'll go see Evelyn. I can't be distracted -- what if a beast gets in?"  
"It would only take a minute," countered Simon, "you would not be distracted for long."  
Henryk flinched, realizing the true meaning behind his words. "I think I would be. I'll seek out Evelyn. Thank you for your concern."  
A sly grin pulled at Simon's lips, but a reddening grew across his cheeks. He walked around Henryk back towards the steps, leading down into the patient rooms. Henryk followed him, staring down at the mahogany floor instead of keeping an eye on Simon.  
The relationship between the two was. . . strange. Henryk had gone from harboring feelings for his mentor and friend, to a close-to-relationship with another Hunter, whom had stayed behind in Old Yharnam when it was burned to the ground. He then had felt very little for anyone or anything. He had thrown himself into the Hunt over and over, he had no time for anything else. Even his friendship with Evelyn had come as quite the surprise for him. Even Gascoigne had noticed him pulling away, and encouraged him.  
Henryk shook his head as if to throw the thoughts. He stopped in the hallway, watching as Evelyn was filling a bag attached to a tall, thin pole, meant to connect to a drip in a patient's veins. He could tell she had children in the clinic by the size of the bags and the drip itself.  
"What can we do?" asked Henryk, and she looked at him.  
"You two have done plenty," she replied with a smile. "Thank you. I. . . I'm in your debt, Henryk. I also think I'm in shock."  
He laughed, patting her shoulder. "Understandable. Simon and I will continue rounds. Should you see or hear anything peculiar, simply call for us."  
Evelyn nodded. "I'll be in with the patients should you need me. I have one little girl here that will not sleep until I've read her a story. I think we both could use a bit of relaxation. So, that is where I will be." She frowned. "Can't I look at your shoulder, Henryk?"  
"I'm alright. I've suffered much worse," he replied. "Perhaps come morning, we can assess the injuries. For now, I'll start patrol. Simon?" he looked at the other Hunter, who was staring over into the dark hallway to their left.  
"Yes. Patrol." Simon turned back towards them. "It seems quiet enough, though."  
Henryk said nothing further to each. He watched as Evelyn gathered herself and entered the small room towards the back of the hallway. All the fear left her face, and a smile grew in its place when she saw the sick little girl on the bed. She said something to her, and the girl's face lit up. He looked away.  
"You look sad," observed Simon, tilting his head and looking at Henryk, who scowled and walked away from him. Simon sighed and jogged to catch up.  
"I am not sad," muttered Henryk angrily, drawing a curtain to look out the window. He did so with a much too sharp movement, and pain burned through his shoulder and arm, enough that he grimaced. "It. . . has been a long night already."  
"Every Hunt seems to be getting longer," agreed Simon. "So much so that soon we will have days-long Hunts. Every person in Yharnam would be a Hunter." He shook his head.  
"I fear that." Henryk leaned against the wall across from Simon, looking out the same window. "Djura seemed to think the Church was the problem, not the beasts."  
Simon said nothing at first, staring up at the full moon, hanging over Yharnam. He shook his head, looking down at the floor. "I will not give my opinion. Much rides on it, after all. I am already a Church Hunter mocked and scorned, I should not ostracize myself further."  
"I won't ostracize you for an opinion, nor the weapon that you use." Henryk looked back at him, and Simon raised his head again. "Your ability to use a bow like a pistol is incredible. As is an opinion that is not molded by the Healing Church."  
Simon grinned again, chuckling quietly. "I know you and Djura were. . . close. That does not, however, cloud your judgement. He, against all things, was right. The Healing Church has many ugly faces, all that they would rather kill than show. I've spent my time trying to find such secrets. I am fascinated by them, thought I fear what I may find. Do you not have questions, Henryk? Do you not dream?"  
"I dream," said Henryk, "but I do not understand how."  
"Nor do I." Simon pursed his lips, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.  
"If you are seeking out the truth, I would happily accompany you," said Henryk. "The Church is no friend of mine."  
Simon stared at him. It was that same empty, emotionless stare that he had just before he had kissed Henryk, only a month earlier. Henryk had remembered every second of it. He remembered wanting so much more, but being far too afraid to push. He remembered stopping short as they heard footsteps approaching. He remembered being able to forget, if only for a moment, the heartache he had suffered. Simon had ignored him, mostly, for that month. Now, they stood, face to face, with little else to discuss.  
Henryk could feel his heartbeat in his ears again, as he dropped his hands down to his sides. Part of him wished that it was just another night. That there was no Hunt, no beasts. He would be able to act on a carnal desire, slowly burning through him like a wildfire. But, it would be death, surely, to distract themselves with such things.  
"The Choir," said Simon suddenly, and Henryk was pulled from his line of thought. "That is what they call themselves. The upper echelons of the Healing Church. They keep all the secrets guarded in Upper Cathedral Ward. I've seen them. I've also seen strange Hunters on the outskirts of the Frontier, by a pair of large doors down from a cliffside. I would love to follow them, but there is a sickening feeling that settles over me whenever I step close to it, as though a thousand eyes watch me from somewhere I cannot see."  
"That's ghastly," said Henryk, and Simon nodded.  
"I don't wish to go alone. Next time I go, won't you come with me?" Simon's tone was rather hopeful. So much so, that Henryk had a difficult time saying no.  
"I'll go with you," agreed Henryk. "Though, I will not go near those doors. I've heard stories about an abandoned part of Yharnam, as cursed and forbidden as Byrgenwerth. I do not wish to enact any curses upon myself."  
Simon laughed. "You believe in curses, Henryk?"  
"And blessings."  
He grinned. "How optimistic of you. I quite like that. The world is much too dark at times. You're a bit of a light."  
"I'm a light?" Henryk did not believe him, not in the slightest.  
"There isn't much light in the world any longer," continued Simon, "much of it has been snuffed out. Most likely by pessimistic Hunters." He chuckled. "You are shockingly optimistic."  
Henryk released the subject, turning away from Simon to look back out the window. "I came to Yharnam for a cure to a disease I had. It ravaged our small encampment on the outskirts of the desert. My father died from it first, then my mother shortly after. I was eighteen, too young to fully understand the gravity of it. I followed the rumors of the healing blood, and the Church built around it. I traveled alone for months, while my curious illness tore my insides apart. When I came to Yharnam, I was slowly cured, alongside a man just a bit older than me, sick with a similar illness." He paused, looking back at Simon. "I had a little sister, you know. She's dead, too."  
Simon seemed at a loss for words. The Hunter instead reached forward and sat a hand on Henryk's shoulder, his grasp light. "Such things are why we are Hunters."  
"Why people are drawn to Yharnam is far beyond me," muttered Henryk bitterly. "This town is cursed. Drowning in beasts and blood. I stay only because Gascoigne stays. Because the Hunt is all I know. Steeped in blood every day, it becomes pungent. I feel covered in it, no matter how clean I am. Djura once said it is the heavy guilt of killing those who once walked among us as friends, as equals. That view of things ended with him staying in Old Yharnam, killed along with those sick of the Ashen Blood. He did not deserve that, so perhaps the beasts do not, either."  
Simon looked down at the floor, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He briefly shut his eyes, as if lost in thought. He, despite his loyalty to the Church, agreed with Henryk. For so long, Simon had revered Ludwig for his capability, and his tearing down of beasts that loomed much larger than Yharnam itself, but after Old Yharnam, and listening to Henryk, he was agreeing with him more and more. Once a young man with his hero teaching him to be a great Hunter, to a Hunter that was slowly defecting.  
"You loved him," ventured Simon, and Henryk's head snapped forward. "Djura. The man left behind."  
Henryk's face contorted, desperate to cover up the incredibly obvious pain and embarrassment that overtook it. He looked back out the window, before pulling the curtain closed with a sharp movement, his hand shaking behind it.  
"Yes. I did."  
Simon lowered his head again. "Oh. Yes, such things are rather hard to swallow."  
"Can't you just say 'sorry' like anyone else would!?" snapped Henryk.  
"No, because then you would have replied with something like, 'I don't want your sympathy', and we would have little else to discuss." Simon sighed.  
Henryk looked appalled. "Wouldn't we, Simon? Would we not discuss us sleeping together, and then you just disappearing whenever I wished you speak to you about it!?"  
"Oh dear," replied Simon.  
"Why did you even follow me?" snapped the Hunter, turning away from Simon. "Was it so that you could be some kind of rebel against the Church? Or was it to torment me, since you like to play with other peoples' emotions."  
"I daresay the night of a Hunt is a poor time to discuss one's feelings."  
Henryk scowled, marching away from Simon and down the hall to check the other windows. Frustratingly enough, the other Hunter followed closely behind him.  
"Perhaps there are ghosts in my past I do not wish to haunt you with," continued Simon quietly. "Perhaps there are reasons, far beyond what you're contemplating."  
Henryk turned back around abruptly, and Simon stopped short as to not bump into him. "My feelings, Simon. They mean very little to you, I understand, but I already shared much with you, much more than I've shared with anyone else, and you still do not take them seriously."  
Simon stared blankly at him, as if desperately trying to gather his thoughts. He shook his head, looking once again at the floor with nothing to say.  
"Still nothing to share, hm?" scoffed Henryk. "Delightful. Let us focus on the Hunt and nothing else." He grimaced, as a burning pain seared into his shoulder. He reached with his hand, prodding the bleeding wound and frowning at his own blood.  
Simon simply shook his head, grasping Henryk by his uninjured arm, and pulling him towards the nearest room. Henryk did not fight him, as he was trying to suppress the pain already burning through him, while not letting Simon see just how much pain he was truly in. The beast's claws had sunk much deeper than he had initially thought, and with each slow movement of his arm, he felt it deep into his shoulder. He shivered, and the involuntary movement caused him to grimace.  
"Don't follow me," muttered Henryk, skulking back into one of the surgery rooms towards the back of the clinic. The other Hunter watched him closely, but listened, and stayed put.  
He stepped inside of the sterile room, nausea sweeping over him as he peeled the blood-stained garment away from his shoulder injury. Black spots danced in front of his vision, looking more and more like the fur of a scurrying beast. He leaned back against the wall, shutting his eyes tight. When he had gathered himself enough, he peered down at the wound. Dug deep inside of his flesh was one of the beast's claws, pushed down deep enough that only the dried blood of the claw's quick showing. He reached a hand up slowly, brushing his fingertips against the blackened claw, pain exploding beneath his touch. He gasped, his hand hitting the wall in response. The claw was deeply embedded, the sharp, dagger-like point had most likely clearly sliced through his supraspinatus tendon, as the claw-marks had begun at the top of his shoulder, and followed the length of his clavicle to his breastbone.  
His heart was hammering away in his chest, as he slowly made his way to the surgery table, hoisting himself up and exhaling loudly. He sat for a moment, before reaching for the claw again. Normally, he could absorb far more pain than this, but it was as if the beast had been treading through poison. Henryk's mind immediately went to the thought of the Scourge, as beasthood was known for its painful transformations and merciless killing. Unable to grasp the claw with his fingertips, he relented after two attempts. He screwed his eyes shut again, his hands trembling as he reached for a third time.  
A much softer, gentler hand laid over his, curling slender, nimble fingers into his palm to pull his hand from the wound, back onto the surgery table. For only a moment, Henryk thought that it was Evelyn, until he opened his eyes and Simon was staring at him, hood removed completely from his head and face, the dim lantern light illuminating rather deep green eyes. He had a scar that ran beneath his eye that Henryk always wondered where it came from. He wondered if he had encountered something intent on taking his beautiful eyes from him. Or perhaps, it was from a beast that simply swiped either too high, or too low.  
Henryk watched Simon intently, as Simon began to attentively remove the rest of the clothing from around Henryk's wound, unbuckling the belts and untying the small strings holding each piece together. He let them fall haphazardly to the floor, his fingertips moving as if taking part in an intricate dance. Henryk's pain-filled eyes narrowed, as Simon brought him down to his blood-stained ivory undershirt, and began to meticulously unbutton each one with the same precision as a doctor. Simon helped Henryk out of the shirt, leaning so close to him, Henryk could feel Simon's breath on his skin.  
"I've dressed worse wounds on the night of a Hunt," said Simon quietly, setting his blade against the wall before returning to Henryk. "A beast's claw is not so easily broken. You must have thick skin."  
Henryk pursed his lips. "I fear the Scourge."  
"As all Hunters do," replied Simon, "but you'll take antidote and blood, and you will be just fine. I would fear infection more." He grinned. "And extraction."  
"It already hurts," admitted Henryk, shifting uncomfortably.  
"Lie back," commanded Simon gently, and Henryk obeyed, resting his head against the makeshift pillow at the back of the bed.  
He stared up at the light overhead. It was dim and golden, swaying just slightly. He tried to concentrate on anything but the pain, but it was a constant burning. Sick to his stomach, he grasped Simon's arm, and the Hunter startled.  
"If you don't relax, you're going to have a much more painful experience," said Simon with a lopsided grin, shaking his head. "Don't tell me a brave Hunter like yourself can't handle just a bit of pain."  
Henryk did not reply. He set his jaw, his fingers curled into fists. From the corner of his eye, he saw Simon pull what looked like a very large pair of forceps. He felt his eyes widen, then go back to the lantern overhead. He had faced down many beasts, much more daunting than surgical instruments, but Henryk was incredibly nauseated by doctors and their tools. He found himself, even while being given the blood transfusion, was sickening. It had always been a fear of his, even since he was very young. He could not articulate his fear to Simon, without sounding like a foolish little boy, scared of something sharp being near his skin. His eyes seemed to give him away, however, and the other Hunter sighed softly.  
Henryk waited for Simon to say something else. He waited for the Hunter to begin to tell some kind of story to distract him from the pain; the instrument in his hand. He waited for some kind of countdown; some kind of sound other than his heart pounding in his ears. He shut his eyes tightly again, taking a slow, deep breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth. When he opened his eyes again, Simon's face was inches from his, his dark hair falling in his face. He had dimmed what little light the lanterns above them gave, making him look more like an amorphous shadow, until Henryk's eyes adjusted. He still held the forceps in his hand, pulled out away from the surgery table.  
Henryk exhaled again, his eyes crossed to meet Simon's.  
Simon pressed his lips to Henryk's, and the Hunter suddenly felt very little pain.  
Henryk raised his head, deepening their kiss. He had put much more pressure behind his kiss than Simon did. Simon had a soft, deft kiss, as if simply enjoying the moment. It was Henryk who first raised a hand to pull Simon's head down closer, as it was Simon who opened his mouth first and pressed his tongue to Henryk's. The Hunter's ungloved hand took a gentle fistful of Simon's hair, fingertips gently massaging his scalp, enough to make him shiver.  
Simon broke the kiss first. He stared down at Henryk with a most gentle expression, a small smile pulling at his lips. He lifted the forceps in the air, and between the fingers of the instrument, was the beast's claw. Henryk stared at it in awe, his eyes wide and jaw slacked, unsure just what to say.  
He looked back at Simon. "So, that's it, then?"  
Simon grinned. "Were you expecting more?"  
Henryk slowly sat up, reaching fo his bleeding shoulder. Simon frowned, pushing him back onto the table, and the Hunter tried to push him away.  
"That should be sewn."  
"We have a clinic to protect," muttered Henryk, angry with both himself and Simon. The pain had slowly begun to settle over him again, as he swung his legs over the side of the surgery table. "Don't tell me you sew wounds as well."  
"Quite well," replied Simon. "Evelyn was the one who taught me. I've offered my services to injured Hunters at the clinic before."  
"Then sew me up at the end of the Hunt. How am I to swing a weapon while worrying about pulling stitches? Wrap it if you must." Henryk looked down at the open wound, bleeding down his chest and arm. He made a face at it, as though it was inconveniencing him.  
Simon simply chuckled, shaking his head and opened a nearby cabinet. He rooted through it briefly, as Henryk stared ahead at the door, as if waiting for a beast to break through the door. His pain was gone, but he felt so strange. . . once again pulled back to the thought of him and Simon. They had laid together. They had known each other. He felt drawn to him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. Yet, he could not read him. He could not fathom what Simon could possibly want. He felt as though Simon did not love him at all, and Henryk was just a man to bed when the Hunt was over, and he had little else to do. He would not entertain the thought for a second that Simon felt anything more than lust for Henryk, as he did for many others. Simon had a reputation, through idle gossip, of bedding many. Henryk hated to think that he would throw away something so intimate for the sake of fleeting pleasure.  
"You kissed me." Henryk did not realize he had spoken until he saw Simon staring at him, his head tilted curiously.  
"Had I!?" Simon beamed happily at him. "I thought the blinding pain of pulling a beast's claw from your shoulder had caused some memory loss."  
"Are my feelings just a joke to you, Simon?" Henryk swatted his hand away when he reached for Henryk's arm to bind. "Answer me."  
"Now, now." Simon reached again, and Henryk let him. As he began to wrap his shoulder, in such a way that would slow the bleeding, but still keep Henryk mobile enough to finish the Hunt without incident. All the while, Simon kept that sly grin on his face.  
Simon worked in silence. He did not answer Henryk's question, though Henryk waited for it with bated breath. He could feel the embarrassment and frustration building within him, as he simply wanted an answer. Instead of internalizing his thoughts, he looked at Simon and began to talk.  
"I loved Djura," he began gently, "but it had not started with him. When I first came to Yharnam, I was taken in by Gascoigne, the stranger dying from an affliction quite similar to mine, saved by the Healing Church's strange blood. He told me of the Hunts and the Hunters. So, I became one. I began the Hunts. And I felt something for him that I still cannot explain. And when I had finally pulled my feelings deep within myself, and projected them upon someone else, he abandoned me for the people of Old Yharnam. I loved him, and I think he had once loved me, and he still chose to die rather than stay with me. And my loyalty to Gascoigne, to the Church, I left him. I should have died with him in Old Yharnam. I should have. . .  
"And then you. You come along with your strange ways and your beautiful eyes, and you play coy with me for months, until finally I bed you, then you don't speak to me, don't look at me, but show up. Incredibly, you're here tonight, following me to protect a clinic on the other side of Yharnam, against the wishes of the Healing Church. You kiss me, you feel that I want you, and you save my life, but you won't just tell me what you feel for me. I am infuriated by you, but you're the only thing I want, and that is. . . a bit much for me to grasp."  
Simon looked over at Henryk, his expression as soft as it had been when Henryk had bedded him. He smiled, very small, very gentle. It was a sign of vulnerability that surprised Henryk. He had Henryk's blood smeared across his hands, but he did not seem to mind. He was much too distracted by the Hunter before him.  
"I am good friends with Lady Maria." Simon smiled as he mentioned her. "She has taught me so much over these years I've known her. She was protecting me from an assassin. One who hides behind the Church's holy banner. He has a. . . particular grudge against me. I wished not for him to visit me while I slept. The night of a Hunt would be such a perfect place for the assassination of a Hunter. . . staying close to you makes me feel much more secure. Especially with Maria being so far away at the moment. . ."  
"Who?" demanded Henryk, suddenly furious that someone could possibly want Simon dead for. . . no good reason.  
Simon shook his head. "I don't want him seeking you out next. And the obscene rumors about me! They are not true. Though. . . I've often wondered. . . things about our Holy Blade." He grinned wistfully. "Should I ask Evelyn? She owes us for this, yes?"  
Henryk's eyes went wide. "Simon!! That's disgusting!"  
"Ooh, pish! He's. . . burly."  
Henryk scowled.  
"Now, now, Henryk. Jealously is an ugly beast. You're strapping enough on your own, you needn't think on anyone else's looks."  
Henryk looked at him curiously. "Oh, strapping, is it?"  
Simon flushed, looking back at his work. "I never intended to lead you on, Henryk. I do feel what you feel. . . I only wish to keep you from the assassin that seems to hunt me."  
Henryk laid a hand over Simon's hand. "I'm sure you can hold your own, but I could protect you. I could. . ."  
Simon pulled his hand away from Henryk's, laying it instead on his cheek. "I've done my fair share of subterfuge, even to catch those with nefarious plots. I may not need your help, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't. . . want it. I just don't wish to put you in harm's way."  
"Subterfuge?" asked Henryk curiously.  
"Why, yes. It was a big ordeal, involved some. . . dusty hands and that wonderful ash from Hemwick Charnel Lane. . ." he grinned. "I do like the way you look at me."  
Henryk chuckled, shaking his head. "You'll have to tell me the full story, once this Hunt is over. I. . . should get dressed. The clinic won't rid itself of beasts."  
Simon placed a hand on Henryk's knee, sending a small jolt through his spine. "Must we?"  
"Simon. . ." Henryk frowned at him, his tone and expression serious. "There will be time for. . ." he trailed off. "We have a job to do. Keeping the beasts away from the clinic is the whole reason we came here tonight." He stood up off of the table, reaching for his clothing.  
Simon sighed dramatically, dropping his shoulders. "I suppose. But, won't you entertain a single kiss, before running back out into the fray?"  
"The Hunt is no competition," replied Henryk with a grin. "Though, if we are keeping a tally, I do have more kills than you."  
Simon rolled his eyes. "I find your body distracting. Get dressed."  
Henryk leaned forward, taking Simon's face in his hands, he kissed him. He took his sweet time, his kisses slow, soft and precise. Simon laid his hands on Henryk's waist, his fingertips kneading his skin, sending shivers about Henryk's body. In a moment, Henryk found himself standing between Simon's legs, Simon's body bent slightly backwards, his palms on the table behind them. Henryk's hands fell instead to Simon's hips, his thumbs pressed against either side his pelvis, bringing his lips from Simon's, to instead press against his neck, and shoulder. Simon let out a very subtle moan, stretching his neck to expose more skin for Henryk to press his lips to.  
Henryk groaned, pressing his face against Simon's shoulder. "The Hunt, Simon. . ."  
"Yes," replied Simon, his voice breathy. "The Hunt. Let's. . ."  
Henryk pulled away from him, pulling him by the hands upright and away from the table. When he took his hands from Simon's, he stooped and retrieved his clothes from the ground, slowly beginning to redress himself. His shoulder had gone from an intense, burning pain to a dull ache, enough for him to ignore. Simon watched every single move he made, his eyes filled with a perfect mix of desire and adoration, as though he could finally look at him in such a way. Henryk praised the gods, as though he might have a fighting chance at love.  
Once redressed, Henryk took his saw cleaver from the ground and placed it on his back once more, walking from the surgery room with Simon at his heel. They made it about halfway down the hall, before Evelyn walked out of the furthest room, and her eyes grew wide.  
"Where have you been!?" Evelyn threw her hands to the air. "I thought you two left!"  
"Is there a beast?!" asked Henryk quickly, and Evelyn glowered at him.  
"No, but there could be. I need my only two Hunters accessible," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "How is your shoulder, Henryk? Won't you let me look at it?"  
"After the Hunt," replied Henryk with a smile. "It's fine. Simon wrapped it as best he could for me. I'm no good to anyone if I can't use my cleaver arm."  
Simon chuckled. "My work is nowhere near yours, Evelyn, but it will suffice. When this is all over, you can teach me all of your suturing ways."  
Evelyn pushed her falling dark hair out of her face, nodding once. "I already have, but I can show you again. No, all has been quiet. I've heard commotion out on the streets, but since the gates are closed, I think we'll be left alone. . ." she managed a very brief smile. She looked utterly exhausted, so much so that Henryk simply wanted to hug the poor girl. She was only twenty-one, much too young to have to stomach the ways of Yharnam. She had a heart for the people of the town, and he was always afraid it would be her undoing.  
"Are you alright?" asked Henryk, and Evelyn raised her head again.  
"Yes," she replied after a moment's pause. She did not seem to be much different, except she looked far more tired than she even had looked earlier. She kept fiddling with her hands, trying to hide just how much they were shaking. "It's been fairly quiet now. . . my patients are asleep. Do you think this will end soon?"  
"I don't know," replied Henryk honestly. "It's much easier to tell by where the moon sits in the sky. Easier to sense outside. And I'm not taking that chance."  
"I don't blame you," replied Evelyn. "I've asked Ludwig to try and explain the Hunts to me from a Hunter's perspective. He has never done it successfully. Not for lack of trying, you see, and certainly not because I can't understand it. More because. . . he just says, 'hm. I don't know', and goes about his day." She laughed nervously, looking over her shoulder.  
Henryk patted her shoulder affectionately once again, letting his hand linger there. It brought her some semblance of comfort, and she smiled at him.  
From somewhere beyond the clinic, the beasts howled and roared, as they were cut down by the Blades and the other Hunters, taking up arms against them that night. The black-garbed Church Hunters were able to find their source of this most recent beastly Hunt, or so they thought, and killed it before it even left its bed. It had once been a young man, tainted by the blood. Tainted by the Scourge. It was a bloody, brutal sight, one that even Hunters could not stomach. Most of the Church assassins were cruel, and their barbaric antics went unpunished, due to the Church keeping them secret from the rest of Yharnam. Simon was the only one within the clinic that knew even close to the truth.  
They could see smoke rising just above the buildings. Henryk watched from an upper window, wondering if this was the night Yharnam would burn, as Old Yharnam had in the past. Even through the glass, he could smell the blood in the air; the scent that was supposed to be a healing, welcomed scent to Hunters, now made Henryk ill. Simon did not leave his side, which brought Henryk much more solace than he wanted to admit. He still smelled so heavily of incense, so he masked the heavy scent of blood and beasts. They spoke very little, since they felt as though they did not need to. So much had been covered just in their simple conversation; their complicated kiss.  
They could hear Evelyn pacing. Both Hunters wondered how she slept, if she slept, on the nights of Hunts, or the nights when Ludwig was not with her. Henryk knew she had a complicated past, as she cared for a young boy that was not hers, but he had been orphaned since he was very little. He knew that she feared the beasts and the Hunt more than she cared to admit.  
The night dragged on like a slow swinging pendulum. The air within the clinic had shifted, becoming thinner and colder. The two Hunters paced the entire building, though they both knew that they were mostly safe within its walls. The beasts would have been led away by the fires lit by the townspeople and the Hunters wielding their torches. The black-garbed Church Hunters would have finished their duty by then. . . Henryk wondered where the Holy Blades were. If they were stalking the Cathedral Ward, keeping the wealthy safe from the beasts, or if perhaps they chased the beasts through the woods, towards the Frontier. He was still incredibly angry with Ludwig, and would relish in reminding him who kept his beloved safe during the Hunt. He held much against the Healing Church, and he struggled to differentiate the clerics and the Hunters at times. They all made poor decisions. They all cared only for themselves.  
Simon met Henryk's side again, and the two walked to the ground level. Henryk could feel the tension in the Hunter beside him, and as much as he wanted to address it, he did not. The room around them was mostly dark, as the lanterns had mostly burnt out around them. The moonlight streamed in through the windows above the door, casting small shadows at the feet of the Hunters.  
Henryk turned to face Simon, who seemed enthralled by the moonlight on the wooden floors, while Henryk was much more enthralled with the Hunter. And when Simon turned back to him, his visage soft and eyes as warm as fire, Henryk framed the Hunter's face in his hands and kissed him once more, relishing in the fact that Simon was not at all surprised, and kissed him back with equal fervor. Simon's hand pressed against the back of Henryk's head, his fingers teasing his thick, black hair. Henryk framed Simon's hips in his hands, walking him backwards until his back touched the wall. Simon's back against the wall, he placed a leg between Henryk's, his fist tight in Henryk's hair, body closing the gap between them. A heat surged between them; one that would have come at the height of a Hunt. Like the best kind of bloodlust, the taste of the Hunter's lips and the warmth of his body; it was as though he had taken a beast blood pellet, and he was tearing the flesh of the beasts; relishing in their viscera covering him.  
And then it was not.  
Then it was soft, gentle; warm, welcoming. It was the florid face of a man who had never been so delicately treated, and was melting into the brightly-garbed Hunter, in a way he hadn't let himself that night weeks ago.  
As if his mind were trying to pull him back to reality, Simon pulled his head back until it hit the wall behind him. He raised a shaking hand up to Henryk's cheek, his hand cold and unsure. There was a strange pain in his eyes; one Henryk was struggling to identify. Simon finally smiled; hesitantly and gradually, before kissing Henryk once more.  
"There is still a Hunt," said Simon quietly, "we are still Hunters."  
Henryk had pulled his lips from Simon, but ignored every word that came from his mouth, and grinned impishly, kissing the Hunter's jaw. Simon sighed.  
"It is a shame my skin isn't a beast," said Simon, "for you would have it under your boot in little time at all. . ." he fought to keep his eyes opened, but lost the battle as Henryk's lips met his neck.  
Simon's pulse raced beneath Henryk's lips, as Simon's fingertips dug into the wall behind him. Simon seemed to have lost himself in the moment, until he finally forced himself back to reality, and laid his hands on Henryk's shoulders. The other Hunter huffed, pulling himself back to eye level with Simon, and Simon chuckled.  
"Don't pout," chided Simon, pushing a loose lock of Henryk's dark hair away from his face. "Just think of what you'll do to me when the sun rises."  
Henryk pursed his lips, a hint of insecurity and a sudden, blinding desire welled up inside of him. He nodded once, sighing and backing up from the wall. Henryk noticed that Simon had placed his hand within his own, fingertips entangled tightly as if to reassure him. It was far more intimate a thing than anything they could have done in the first room of the clinic, as it showed a depth of feeling from the otherwise very jaded Hunter. Henryk's wishes were clear, and suddenly, so were Simon's.  
"Aah, smell that?" asked Simon with a grin. "See the white streaks? The moon is sinking."  
Henryk turned his head towards the door, and surely enough, the moonlight had disappeared, and in its wake, the sky was streaked with white and blue light, creeping up over the spires of Cathedral Ward.  
Hands still interlocked, the Hunters moved towards the door and stepped outside into the courtyard, looking towards the sky. The air had changed completely. The scent of the Hunt and beasts had receded along with the moon, and the fires had been put out. Smog covered the city, its smell heavy and choking. Both Hunters breathed a sigh of relief, as the Hunt had faded before their eyes, and only the quiet of a Yharnam morning greeted them as they stood in the foggy courtyard. The air was crisp and cold, and swirled around them just enough to tussle cloaks. It felt more like a gentle touch than wind.  
Henryk raised his head, shutting his eyes to take in the morning air. As he always felt after a Hunt, no matter how involved he was in it, he felt exhausted, weighed down by the gravity of the night. Soon, Yharnamites would pour from their homes, assessing their losses and damages, and they would go about their days as if nothing had happened. Those in Cathedral Ward would wait for the gate to reopen, and the Holy Blades to return victorious, with the head of some monstrous beast they had slain as if to prove they ended the Hunt that way. Henryk always thought there was far more to it, but he did not look far beyond the surface of it all.  
"It's done," said an exasperated voice behind them.  
Simon turned around first, facing Evelyn with a small grin. "Why, yes. It would appear you've done it. Must be the beasts were so distracted by your fearsome nature."  
"You jest," said the tired young girl, crossing her arms across her chest as she approached the Hunters. "I. . . owe you two. Something. I'm not sure, but. . . probably my life."  
Henryk finally turned to face her, finally pulling his hand from Simon's. He took a step forward and laid a gentle hand on her cheek, kissing her forehead in a fatherly manner. When he had pulled back from her, she nodded to him firmly, her tired eyes filled with tears.  
"I take it your beloved will come to you, we needn't escort you to Cathedral Ward?" Simon raised an eyebrow to Evelyn, and she faced him.  
"No. I'll be here, he knows that." Her tone was dripping with distaste, but still cracked with emotion. It was no doubt in her mind, despite her clear anger, that she feared this would be the time he did not return. It was her greatest fear that he fell victim to the beasts, though it felt impossible that he would ever die on the night of a Hunt.  
"We should return, at least." Henryk loathed to think of the earful he would get from Gascoigne when he returned, but he also knew his mentor would be quite impressed by his ability to stay alive, and keep everyone inside the clinic alive. Though, he had done so with Simon, and couldn't take all the credit himself.  
"Must we?" Simon grinned at Henryk, that devilish grin that told Henryk he had very different plans. "Isn't your apartment close by? Or is it more of a townhouse? How quiet must we be when we arrive there?"  
Henryk flushed, looking away from Simon. "I. . . we should at least report back. . . gauge just how much trouble we're in." He chuckled nervously.  
"Yes, yes. . ." Simon nodded, pulling his cloak around him a bit tighter.  
And so, the Hunters began their long walk back towards Cathedral Ward. They reopened the gate from the courtyard of the clinic. Since they had closed the gate to the main street, the two climbed a ladder, and took the rightmost street, onto a little bridge leading to the next. They could see the freshly smeared blood of beasts and possibly Hunters was soaking into the stone. In the town square, they had strung up a large black beast, its skin charred with a fire recently put out. Simon muttered something about how ghastly it was, and Henryk pulled him along by his sleeve.  
The streets were still devoid of life still, as the beasts had been slaughtered and the townspeople still had not left their houses out of fear. The smell of burnt flesh and fresh blood caught their noses, as they walked on towards the Great Bridge. Yharnam after a Hunt was deathly quiet. Henryk never truly enjoyed the morning, until now. He had so much relief knowing that things he truly cared for had survived through the night, and praying that it would be a long time before the next one. He would enjoy the peace while he could, and enjoy it at the side of a man he was slowly falling in love with.  
Simon seemed to be enjoying the morning as well. The often secretive and emotionless Hunter had a small smile on his face, as well as a bright glint in his eyes. He could ignore the stench of beasts and blood and smoke, for he felt as though someone truly cared about him. He walked close to Henryk, looking up at the sky to take in the morning. He had never found the sunrise quite so beautiful.  
"So, tell me," said Simon, looking over at Henryk, "was I much too crass at the end of the Hunt, or wouldn't you take me back to your home?"  
Henryk laughed, shaking his head. "Perhaps my kiss was too subtle for you. Do you need me to feel you up next time?"  
"I certainly won't say no," replied Simon. "I warn you, I've never done this. Whatever you would call what happened between us, and what will continue to happen with us. I would first ask that you'd be patient with me. . . and know I must tell Maria. She's a very good friend of mine, and wants nothing more than my happiness. . ." he trailed off, looking back up at the sky. "She is very jaded. But, I feel very safe around her. That's how I feel around you, though I've never felt quite like that around Maria." He chuckled.  
"I would hope not," countered Henryk. "That would've made things awkward."  
Simon laughed. "Yes. I mean to say, I also feel that way around you. You're a unique Hunter, Henryk, and I'm pleased to have met you."  
"Careful, Simon. You almost sound like you care deeply for me." Henryk chuckled.  
"Perish the thought." Simon shook his head. "That-- oh, dear."  
As they reached the end of the Great Bridge, they saw a stalwart, steely-eyed Holy Blade, standing with his sword on his back, arms crossed over his chest, half covered with blood from the Hunt. He was not alone, as Gascoigne stood just behind him, along with two other Blades that Henryk did not recognize. The gates leading into Cathedral Ward were wide open, and the light of the morning had not yet reached them, leaving it dark, foggy and grey.  
"Do you suppose we're about to die?" asked Simon quietly, but Henryk did not laugh.  
They continued to walk, reaching the first archway just before the wide open gate. There was a tangible tension between the Hunters, one that could be felt from across the Bridge. Ludwig's stare was enough to make a small child cry, and Henryk could not see Gascoigne's face.  
They came within feet of the Holy Blade, and he raised his head further. Head tilted up, he looked equally regal and terrifying, his bright eyes dimmed by the strain of the Hunt. His long, black hair was pulled back and partly matted with blood, as was his whitish garb. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if thinking on his words before he spoke.  
"Is she alright?" the Holy Blade finally asked, his commanding voice nearly cracking with emotion.  
"Yes, no thanks to you," responded Henryk sharply, and Gascoigne's head snapped forward. Even Simon grimaced.  
Ludwig took a moment to gather himself. He did not seem angry, rather a bit. . . flustered. And then, in a flood of emotion, relief poured into his expression. He shut his eyes, as if in a silent prayer, and when he opened them again, he looked out at the rising sun from the side of the bridge. When he spoke again, there was no small amount of emotion behind his voice.  
"Thank you."  
Henryk blinked, suddenly feeling rather terrible for being cruel, he lowered his head, curling his arm around himself in a salutation fit only for a Hunter. When he straightened, he cleared his throat.  
"It was my pleasure." Henryk approached him, Simon lingering close behind him. Ludwig stood much taller than him, and his fierce features and wild eyes intimidated many, but he looked so incredibly relieved that neither Hunter could be afraid of him in that moment. When Henryk came to him, Ludwig shook his hand firmly, once, then nodded to Simon. "Iosefka should be returning to her clinic now, and I with her. . ." he looked over his shoulder at Gascoigne. "I would ask of you, Father, that you not reprimand your Hunter, but praise him." In a quieter voice, he added, "I owe much to him."  
"Any Hunter would have leapt at the chance to protect someone from beasts," said Henryk, and Ludwig looked back at him. "It's our job."  
Ludwig finally smiled, a glimmer of who he was outside of the Hunt. "Yes, it is. Are you still averse to the thought of standing at my side as a Blade? I've need for more like you."  
Henryk shook his head. "Gascoigne is my only mentor, though I'm honored. You should go to your woman, she's quite shaken."  
The Holy Blade's eyes once again betrayed him, and he looked momentarily afraid. He nodded once, forcing another smile again. "Yes. The gate is open, the Ward is secured. Rest, my Hunters! You've earned it." He clapped Henryk on the shoulder, and turned to Simon. "And you helped! I reckon your bow is good for the slaughter of beasts."  
"As much as your rifle, yes," replied Simon, nodding politely to him.  
Ludwig laughed, shaking his head. "Good morning, gentleman."  
Before he walked away, Henryk could see that fear in his eyes once more. He wondered if he was more afraid of the state he would find Evelyn, or the earful she was most likely about to give him. Henryk chuckled, shaking his head as he thought upon the second-most powerful man in all of Yharnam (second only to Laurence himself), being yelled at by a young woman who had a very long night.  
Gascoigne simply shook his head, as he was at a loss for words. He approached the two Hunters, and hugged Henryk, patting his back. When he pulled back, he sighed.  
"You smell of beasts."  
"Never a dull moment," replied Henryk, smiling at his mentor. "Gascoigne, have you ever formally met Simon?"  
Simon's eyes widened as if he were caught off-guard. He stepped forward, peering at Gascoigne as if unsure just how to approach him.  
"I've heard stories of a man foolish enough to face down beasts with a bow and quicksilver arrows. . ." the Hunter chuckled. "It's a pleasure. I find your choice of weapon admirable."  
"Thank you. A pleasure to meet you as well." Simon looked back at Henryk.  
Henryk looked back over his shoulder towards the central Yharnam. He had a strange longing in his heart to walk through the streets of that quiet morning again, Simon at his side. For so much of his life as a Hunter, he had very little solace like what he felt that morning. The cold morning air, the fog gathered on the streets. . . the smell of smoke and the whitish yellow light of the slowly rising sun. He could still feel the vindication of saving Evelyn's life. He could still feel Simon's hand in his, his lips pressed against Henryk's. So many different emotions accosted him at once, and he found himself unable to articulate any of them.  
Gascoigne bid Henryk and Simon goodbye. He looked incredibly tired himself, but no worse off. And when he had left along with the nameless Hunters who had been standing behind him and Ludwig, and only the two Hunters remained on the bridge. Henryk leaned over the side of the bridge, breathing a deep sigh of relief.  
"Thank you for following me, Simon." Henryk broke the silence between them, as Simon leaned against the side of the bridge as well. "This evening could have been much different without the help of another Hunter. . . especially you."  
Simon laughed, shaking his head. "If I hadn't followed you, you'd be dead. How is your shoulder?"  
Henryk rolled his eyes. "Sore. But, it'll be just fine. Tell me Simon, do you have plans for your morning?"  
"Oh? Me? No, I don't believe I do. . . " Simon grinned out at the morning sky, his arms crossed loosely across his chest. "Yourself?"  
"No, I've no plans."  
Simon looked rather pleased. He leaned away from the bridge's side, Henryk following suit, and offering Simon an arm. The Hunter beamed.  
"What a gentleman!" Simon locked arms with Henryk, smiling at him like a fool. "And where shall we go?"  
Henryk rolled his eyes. "You'll see, now won't you?"

______________________________________________________

The clinic stood stoic against all other buildings in Yharnam. The sun finally visible, but providing no warmth to the streets, as the Holy Blade made his way through the partially inhabited streets, ignoring those who would watch him closely, whether in reverence, or disdain. The slight hum in his ears from those bright little sprites that danced about his darkened mind still remained from the Hunt, his hands still feeling soaked with blood. He was steeped in it still, but all that mattered in that moment was getting to Evelyn.  
Once in the courtyard, he saw a few Hunters that had sustained deep wounds from the beasts, waiting to step inside. They all sat around, speaking amongst themselves and paying him little mind. They all looked incredibly tired, and part of Ludwig pitied them. He remembered being a young Hunter, faced with that seemingly endless night for the first and second times. He remembered feeling the fear of staring down one's first beast, hands trembling as it bore that heavy weapon, that splintering torch. He prayed for them, for their safety and sanity, as the Hunt threatened both. When they did see him, they stared as all did.  
He walked forward, pushing past the woman at the door who told him he could not go inside, politely raising a hand to her. His boots crossed the threshold, floorboards creaking beneath him, as his eyes scanned the room. There were a few townspeople seated on the operating tables, their heads hung as they were given blood. The heavy scent of blood and sterile tools filled the air, and it was a bit noisy, as the townspeople all tried to explain what their ailments were at once to a different able body.  
Ludwig turned towards the steps leading up further into the clinic. At the foot of the steps, Evelyn stood, her eyes as tired as they were when he had left her two days earlier. Her light hair was pulled away from her face, but those pesky longer pieces in the front continued to fall in front of her eyes, prompting her to push it away each time. She had blood on her, but it did not seem to be her own. It was the first time that entire night into the morning that Ludwig felt his heart race.  
Her lower lip trembled, as she moved across the clinic floor, pushing past someone to get to him quicker. And when she reached him, she stopped and looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with tears.  
They stared at one another. Evelyn moved first as Ludwig opened his mouth to speak, hopping up on her toes to through her arms around his neck. She barely even staggered him, as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, cradling her close and lifting her into his arms.  
And all he could manage was, "Forgive me, please. Forgive me."  
After a silent moment, muffled in his blood-stained cloak, Evelyn whispered, "Always."

______________________________________________________

Henryk and Simon did, in fact, walk back to Henryk's small abode, tucked far away from the rest of the apartments owned by other Yharnamites. By then, the sun was a bit higher in the sky, and townspeople began to flood the streets, leaving the Hunters pleased when they were once again on their own.  
Henryk's small house was meticulously decorated with very modest furniture, but the thing that caught Simon's attention was the multitude of books. Henryk had so many, that Simon wondered if they were just for decoration, as Hunters rarely had time to do much of anything, let alone read. He also had, and Simon found it most strange, a vial filled with sand sitting on one of the bookshelves.  
Simon inquired after it, and Henryk smiled fondly.  
"It's sand from where I come from," he replied. "I wanted just a little piece of home, and I had very little. . . so, I took a vial of sand. . . it's silly."  
"Not silly," replied Simon, shedding his cloak. "Very endearing."  
Henryk took the quiet moment. He kissed the other Hunter again, but with much less fervor as last time, and they both felt it. When he pulled away, he sighed deeply.  
"I would hate to postpone such a. . . wonderful time, but. . . " Simon titled his head.  
"It was a long night," said Henryk, and Simon nodded in agreement. "You don't need to leave, though. I definitely have enough room for two."  
"I see that."  
Henryk sighed. He walked over to the bed and sat down, kicking off his boots and discarding his own cloak. Simon walked almost nervously towards the bed, looking down at the sheets. Henryk raised his head, frowning.  
"Are you waiting for a written invitation?" he asked as he slowly stripped himself of clothing.  
Simon shook his head, and slowly sunk beside the other Hunter on the bed. He sat straight, his hands laid in his lap. His eyes were fixated on the floor, unreadable and otherwise emotionless. Henryk looked over at him, raising a hand to run a gentle knuckle down his cheek.  
"Are you alright?" asked Henryk.  
"I've never quite felt this way before," replied Simon earnestly. Then, as though he realized it was a bit vulnerable, he grinned. "I'm very tired."  
Henryk rolled his eyes. "Can't let yourself show emotion too much, can you?"  
"A man must have his secrets." Simon poked Henryk's nose with the tip of his finger. "My feelings for you aren't exactly so. I needn't say it."  
Henryk kissed him again, gently. First his lips, then his forehead, before leaning back in his bed and pulling him down with him. Simon turned his back to Henryk, molding his body against Henryk's, he shut his eyes tightly.  
Henryk, with no small amount of exhausted glee, closed his own eyes, but did not fall asleep until he was certain that Simon was fast asleep, hopefully having pleasant dreams, far away from the Hunt.  
And what an eventful Hunt it had been.


End file.
